


lost looking up

by wintercourse



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Multi, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercourse/pseuds/wintercourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jade, John, Rose, Dave, and a long drive home - something easy and comfortable and just west of platonic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost looking up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brinnsprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnsprite/gifts).



> for brinnsprite, who wanted the beta kids on a roadtrip or camping! i went with the return trip :) this was super fun to write, i hope you like it!

“The knight, though eager to prove himself of use to the man before him, could do little but cower under the king’s luminous gaze.”

The sun is dipping to your left, getting in your eyes and spilling light across the well of your lap.

“The fiend found his constitution lacking in the presence of such great magic. Nevertheless, he knew he must persevere; the king’s endorsement was a necessity, and the absence of it would spoil the fruits of his labour, negate the worth of his endeavors. Quelling the tremors that shook him, he drew himself to the fullest of his height; diminutive, even then, when compared to the being seated opposite-”

“Now that part doesn’t make sense. You’ve only got an inch on me, tops.”

John grins, a flash of the same white that pokes permanently between his lips.

“Eyes on the road, Dave.”

You smile to yourself and glance down at Rose, fast asleep on your shoulder. You could hardly get her loaded into the car when you left this morning, and you couldn't blame her - the sun's only just risen after a very long night, and you can feel the onset of fatigue nesting in you bone deep. You suspect Dave fished out the journal just to keep you all awake.

John turns a page in the pitch black notebook, clears his throat dramatically, and continues reading.

“Sir David’s eyes-”

“Wait up, holy shit. She did not actually call that shitty expy Sir David.”

“Actually, she didn’t,” John replies, not looking up, “I was having trouble keeping track of all the wizards, and I thought this would help!”

You meet Dave’s eye in the mirror, exaggerate a shrug and nod in agreement before urging John to keep going.

“Sir David’s eyes were affixed firmly to the flagstones beneath him, reverence and fear still mingling beneath his breastbone. He steeled his nerves, and allowed his molten gaze to fall freely where it may; like the compass needle’s swing, lighting always upon naught but the deepest desires of his heart."

You smile widely, crowing _here it comes!_ and kicking the back of Dave's seat for good measure.

“And so it was,” John grins wickedly, sticking his nose into the thin book, “that he tore his eyes from the gleaming surface beneath his feet, and found himself gazing upon the opulent vision that was the king himself.”

You let out a holler as Dave struggles to keep his composure, veering dangerously as his head drops against the steering wheel.

“Dave!”

John yanks him back up by the hair.

“I’m not going to keep reading if it’s going to get us killed.”

“Ok, ok,” and there’s a hint of hoarse laughter in his voice as he shoves up his shades and mimes wiping a tear from his eyes, “I’m cool. Stoic as shit from here on out, scout's honour.”

You lean forward as much as you can without dislodging Rose and try to snatch the book, but John slides down in his seat and swats you away, shoulders to his ears.

“Come on John, skip to the gay stuff!”

He rifles through a few more pages, squinting eyes reflected in the front mirror.

“Uh, I don’t know if there’s too much of that in here…”

“Boo.”

“Ok, here's something. I think Dave wants to go on some sort of quest, but he has to prove himself to me first? He’s telling me that he has the, uh, required skillset.”

“Nice.”

John tosses Dave a look before skipping forward a few more pages. He looks almost bored until his eyes widen dramatically. You almost miss his thoughtful mutter over the steady drone of asphalt under your wheels, but you definitely don’t miss the colour flooding high on his cheeks.

“Huh. I guess I’m a wizard too.”

You gently remind him that this is a very old draft.

.

“Alright, who would win?”

You glance sidelong at John, trying to haul a still sleeping Rose out of the car.

“What are you, thirteen?”

Dave pulls down his shades to look at you.

"Yes?"

A snort slips out before you can help it, and he gets that dumb I-made-you-laugh look on his face. You have a longstanding love hate relationship with that look. You deal him a look back that hopefully says _a snort is not a laugh, dumbass._ He flicks his eyes away and keeps talking.

“I’m dead set Harley. She’s gonna wake up in a hot second, and I’m thinking we get an ambulance ready now. Who’s it gonna be for?”

You roll your eyes just as Rose opens hers. They’re wide for a second before she sees John, and they narrow back to slits. He freezes with a hand at the small of her back, and you aren't sure if she'll kick him, or swoon and call him Mr. Egbert _Ooh_.

You frown.

“John, duh. Now pass the coco puffs.”

You’re lounging in the backseat, legs dangling out of the car next to Dave, sprawled on the dusty ground. He passes you the half empty box, and you both watch as John and Rose begin their trek to the public bathrooms. Rose has a funny way of walking - slightly off kilter, like she’s winding her way from one arbitrary point to another, repeat ad infinitum. You imagine her tracing out some pattern in the open space, like small town crop circles. You bite your lip. She’s just punch drunk from her nap. John jovially loops an arm through hers and steers her straight. You shove a handful of cereal into your mouth.

You couldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the day if you tried - if you’re being honest, you can’t fall asleep anywhere a lot of the time. You guess it’s something you outgrew. You suddenly want to ask Dave if he misses being thirteen, and you’re sick to death of keeping a filter, so you do.

“I dunno. Do you?”

“Yeah! I used to sleep like a baby.”

He rolls his eyes and you can actually see them, shades pushed up through his hair and resting on his dark roots. You guess that’s something he outgrew.

“You used to sleep like a narcoleptic.”

You kick him and flop back across the backseat.

“Whatever.”

If you thought about it, you’d probably be deciding that it was a dumb question and a dumber answer. But you very stubbornly do not think about it, watching the light shift on the cab’s roof instead and trying to lick chocolate out of your molars. He pipes up from outside anyway.

“And I used to be an asshole, and I used to live a million miles away from you. Shit, I used to flirt with you.”

The little patch of light looks a bit like a frog. You frown. He hums a little.

“Huh. Guess I do miss it.”

You know he can't see it, so you let a smile slip out, short and sweet. You slide none too gracefully out of the car till you’re on the ground next to him, straight faced.

“You used to flirt with _Rose_.”

He crosses his arms in the least subtle way ever, and you laugh.

.

He digs out his copy of _So Fresh Summer 2009_ from the treasure trove of his overstuffed glovebox. By the time the others get back, you’re draped across him in the aftermath of a successful tackle. Your knees are dirty, your ears are straining to catch the muffled refrain of Dynamite, and Dave is accepting his defeat with all the grace of a dead fish. You grin up at them and make a dash for the driver’s seat.

.

The way ahead is perfectly bland. Grey and green and dotted with shrubs, a description of non descript.

Your attempts at road games have been unsuccessful - Dave is busy with his console in the backseat, and Rose is busy peering over his shoulder and lobbing instructions for him to ignore with gritted teeth.

You can feel John’s eyes on you every so often, catch him worrying his lip in your peripheral. He’s fiddling with something, but if you take more than a cursory glance you find yourself drifting and driving straight down the line. You’re still getting the hang of it.

After about ten minutes of the same, he nudges your shoulder.

“Check it out!”

You take it in in glances - he’s got a lapful of kid’s meal toys and a few more deliberately tacked onto his side of the dash.

“What am I checking out?”

“A tableau of the iconic scene from _Face/Off_ , obviously,” he answers, carefully adjusting the placement of a tiny transformer.

You bark out a laugh and take a longer look at his efforts.

You couldn’t say it’s not impressive. You don’t remember enough to say if it’s accurate, but you wouldn’t put anything past him - not least the vaguely unsettling Snoopy/action figure hybrid you assume is standing in for the face snatcher. A Chicken Little circa 2005 watches on in abject horror.

“Oh my god, why does Dave even keep these things?”

He shrugs, smiling widely.

“Hell if I know.”

You tell Rose to come look, and she congratulates John on his absolute vision of plastic debauchery. You take a jolt down your side when you drift just off the road, but you right yourself eventually.

“Hey John?”

“Yeah?”

“Taking requests?”

He snaps a picture and sweeps the toys back into his lap.

“Am I ever!”

.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

Dave turns to look at you over the rim of his shades.

“You have to pull over.”

.

John immediately hops out of his shoes and socks and drags Dave to the water’s edge, because John is a romcom protagonist incarnate.

The sand is hardly pristine, grey and brown and mucky along the edge of the stone wall just behind you. The closest thing to a rock pool is a dug out hollow half full of dead _something_ , slimy and misshapen - you spotted both Rose and Dave eyeing it with interest when you walked past, and consider the logistics of scooping it into a tupperware container to gift them later. Your nose scrunches up in disgust despite yourself. Bad idea.

You take Rose’s hand and lead her away, before kneeling in the wet sand and getting to work. She squats carefully, hiking up the hem of her skirt and watching you dig your hand into the ground.

“Sandcastle?”

“Witch’s castle,” you correct, letting the wet sand drip through your fingers into gnarled towers.

She makes a short hum and leans forward, poking experimentally at the heap of sand, turning the tip to a point. She dramatically dusts off her hands and settles back again. You glance up at her through your lashes and ask wryly if she’s had enough activity for the day. She nods seriously.

“Enough for my lifetime, I should think.”

She stays in the sand with you anyway, and something strange curls through your chest whenever you catch her smiling at nothing. If you’re being honest, it feels a bit like heartburn.

It's a few more minutes before Dave and John wander over, the former miraculously dry above the rolled edge of his jeans, and John soaked to his navel. You keep making castles, and imagine being thirteen again - Hypothetical Dave and Rose arguing over the perceived phallicness of the towers, while Hypothetical John squints and says _they look more like turds, honestly_. You stop imagining, and find Real Dave and Rose and John are chatting about something else entirely.

The sun is sinking over the water, and the stretch of dirty sand looks almost pretty in the dying light. You guess this is why Dave insisted you stop here, for the view - but his back is turned resolutely on the ocean, eyes set instead towards the short stone wall and dingy milk bar on the street above it. You scoot over to him.

“Whatcha doing?”

He jerks his chin forwards, and you follow his line of sight to the window, streakily reflecting the sunset behind you.

“Looks better in there.”

Rose barks out a laugh, and  you notice her and John have turned around too. You crane your neck for a better look. You wonder if it’s artsy, or interesting, but mostly you think he’s being kinda dumb.

“Hey Dave?”

“Yeah John?”

“That’s kinda dumb.”

You settle against his shoulder with a grin.

.

“It’s like… Tetris.”

Rose reads the disbelief on your face, rolls her eyes and ushers you close. She presses herself against your body and the hairs on your arm betray you, standing on end - when her breath hits your face you have to beg every molecule you have to please, _please_ stay in line. She makes a rectangle with her fingers, portrait style, and holds it up to frame the utter mess of the trunk in front of you.

“Tetris.”

She lets out an exasperated huff and sags her shoulders, every bit a deflated balloon.

“It’s a very elegant system, Jade. Every item must be considered in advance, mapped out mentally to maintain perfect balance in both theory and practise.”

“And perfect balance requires my pillow to be at the bottom?”

She opens her mouth to retort before seeming to give up. You oh so casually sling an arm over her shoulder.

“Ok, but I get to sleep on your lap later.”

.

You come to to a rhythm - a constant babump, babump, babump on the edge of your hearing. You search your sleep fogged brain for an explanation and decide it must be your heartbeat, but the too long pause between each thump soon has you panicking. You’d open your eyes if you were aware you had any, but you’re still wading in the shallow end of sleep - where you feel less like a personinabody, and more like just a horizontal consciousness.

You blearily shake off the dregs of dream logic, until you can crack an eyelid and remember where you are.

You’re still sitting up, head vibrating against the window. The inside of the car is dark and light in turns, strobing as you coast under orange streetlights. You realize you’re on a bridge, the metal seams of it beating out the rhythm under your wheels.

John is lit up for a moment, focus fixed forwards, while Dave is thoroughly passed out in shotgun. The low rumble of an oncoming truck rattles through you a split second before its headlights shine over Rose, like thunder before lightning. She’s fast asleep; legs twisted with yours, head on the opposite seat and bum dangerously close to slipping off the middle.

Your hand twitches a little, muscle memory begging you to reach over and pinch her nose until she sputters awake - you glance at John in the driver’s seat and feel the full force of your righteous pranking heritage egging you on. But something about the softness of her features in the harsh light stops you. Her hair is splayed across her face, mouth hanging open, cheek resting on her drool streaked hand. It’s as embarrassing as it is endearing - a tableau you wouldn’t want to mess with.

You settle for laying down next to her, as quietly as possible, instead.

The vinyl squeaks underneath you as you gingerly settle down, hair catching in the seams when you turn to face her. It’s only when you start to drift off again that you feel something brush against your hand, and open your eyes to find two points of deep purple staring back.

She smiles slowly, murmurs a barely audible _hey_ , and you volley it back with an apology tacked on the end. You don’t know whether you really regret waking her up yet, but you think the answer lies halfway between the dreamy flicker of her closed eyelids, and the soft squint that's replaced it.

You find that you can’t really help your hand reaching for hers, or your tongue twisting around another _hey_ , ever so slightly more urgent than the last, when she starts to close her eyes. Your fingertips find the curve of her knuckle in the half light, and you follow it around until you can press your palm flat against hers. Your fingers intertwine. You don’t think you could help that either.

She gestures mutely and minutely towards Dave - slipping barely an inch out of your grasp, bringing your arm with her - confusion written in the flick of her wrist and tilt of her head. You mouth back (silently - she’s already awake, but some part of you wants desperately to preserve this moment, laminate her expression to hang on your walls, and you fear words may puncture the stillness) _yeah, so?_

Her eyes widen by a fraction, her mouth falling open in a silent _oh_ \- _oh, of course_ , or _oh, that makes sense_ , or _oh, I should have thought of this sooner_. You catch yourself before you can laugh, wrestling your smile into an _oh_ to match and pressing your pursed lips to her own.

She’s stock still for a second, until you feel her eyelashes flutter nervously down against your cheek - a beat too late, enough that you have to turn and smother your laughter in the crook of her neck. Rose makes a muted noise, as close as she’d ever come to an indignant splutter. You grin, and quietly reassure her that it’s nothing. You just like how she wears surprise, is all.

She responds by snaking her hand (bold and clumsy, and if you had to guess, still fast asleep from being trapped under her head) around the back of your neck. Her fingers are slightly clammy against your skin, four points of contact drifting slow as icebergs up towards your hairline. Her body follows, sneaking closer to you by degrees. You’re thinking of slugs, of tectonic plates and high speed camera footage when she finally meets you - just as John pulls down off the bridge, and the cab goes dark.

You feel Rose’s lips on yours all the same. Gravity gives you a half hearted tug forwards, pressing you together like it knew you wouldn't dare, like it's done you a favour. The world narrows to nothing but your mingled breath, and the tiny square of blue light your phone casts across the curve of her thigh.

You work your mouth lazily against hers for a while, still drowsy, and you aren’t brought back to reality until you hit a speed bump on the quiet street. Between Dave’s head smacking against the window, John’s hasty brake foot, and both their muttered curses, the tiny bubble of your awareness quickly broadens.

 You really do try to stifle the laughter bubbling up in your chest, but this time you can’t stop yourself. Someone flicks the overhead light on, and your dark slow stillness is banished in favour of Dave sheepishly rubbing the sore spot on his head and Rose's skin squeaking loudly against the vinyl as she vaults herself upright.

Dave catches your eye in the front mirror, crumbs of sleep in his lashes and a raised brow as he looks pointedly to Rose. You stop giggling and offer a waggling eyebrow in return. He lets out an impressive laugh/cough hybrid, while John looks on in confusion - he’s flickering between a good natured smile and the slightest frown. It’s that look he gets sometimes, like he’s laughing at a joke he’s well aware he’s not in on.

He starts to ask, “What did I miss-” but the question tapers off into a short screech when he sees you and abruptly stops the car.

“John-”

“I’m not moving until you put your seatbelt on, oh my god.”

Dave slings an arm around him, saying something along the line of _chill the fuck out, seriously_ , before the angry set of John's eyebrows soften, and he interrupts him with a wide yawn. Rose sighs and offers to drive the home stretch. Dave turns and winks at you - you want to point out how little sense that makes as an innuendo, until you start yawning in kind. It earns you a stern look from Rose, mostly ruined by her tousled hair and faintly twitching smile.

"It's contagious!"

She rolls her eyes and shoves you against the headrest with as much tenderness as she can muster before clambering out of the car. You take it as an invitation to go back to sleep, and when the light goes out again it almost takes you with it. You drowsily register John slipping in next to you, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you trace his profile in the faint glow of a passing car. Dave and Rose are talking quietly in the front - you catch something about you, something with a touch of warmth and a hint of _oh my_ god _what the_ fuck, and you quickly give up on making sense of their conversation.

You want so badly to keep them all, to flash freeze this moment and sprinkle its hide with salt so it can’t escape you. You settle for a lazy glance around the cab, committing the image to your sleep soaked memory.

You hope it doesn’t slip away before you wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> "Who would take over organizing?" a: rose, who would do a frankly terrible job. she packs all the food at the bottom, plans for them to leave at the crack of dawn and has to be carried to the frickin car, and forgets plates so they all eat of tupperware lids for three days. its a mess. "Who would pick the shortest straw and have to drive?" a: jade insists they all take turns, but everyone tries to keep her stints behind the wheel as short as possible because shes terrifying. its dave's car though, so he takes the brunt of the work. its also the reason the glovebox stocks every so fresh cd from 2006 onwards, stale doritos in every variety ("its like russian roulette") and a veritable nativity scene of mcdonalds kids meal toys.  
> ps: this is JUST pre poly! theyre getting there, and everythings sort of falling together


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